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imperial troops made good their retreat, falling back the instant the attack faltered. They fled back across a battleground now deep with Pechenegand Bogomil dead. This time, however, they did not regroup and charge again, but fled up the hill.
    The enemy, believing they had beaten the Byzantines, quickly reformed the line. The drums began beating, and the horns blaring, and they marched ahead once more, but slowly this time. Two disastrous charges had taught them respect for the elusive horsemen.
    Nicetas, who had been waiting on the hilltop, joined the emperor, and said, “The Cuman are growing restless, basileus. They say that if they are not allowed to fight before midday, they will leave the battlefield.”
    â€œIt is a long time to midday,” Alexius replied. “Their patience is soon rewarded. See here!” He pointed to the approaching horde. No longer a single amorphous line, the barbarians had separated themselves into three distinct bodies, each under the leadership of a battlechief. “Tell our vengeful friends that we will soon deliver their enemies into their hands. Warn them to be vigilant.”
    Nicetas saluted, turned his horse and galloped back to his position. The emperor returned to the head of his troops to lead the next assault. Aware that he was embarking on the most dangerous phase of the battle, Alexius uttered a brief prayer and crossed himself. Reining in among his standard-bearers once more, he signalled to Taticius, who turned and shouted the order: “Slow march!”
    The trumpets sounded, and the long ranks of horsemen stepped out. The invaders reacted to the movement by increasing the distance between their divisions. Alexius could see that if he gave them half a chance, the enemy would try to outflank him. Should the barbarian horde succeed, the balance of the battle would shift perilously.
    Alexius watched the two enemy clusters moving farther outon either side of the central host. Behind the three advancing bodies, he could see the rest of the enemy horde taking up the positions vacated by the three advancing groups.
    They were learning, he thought; their battles with the empire over the years was teaching them the rudiments of tactical warfare. Each encounter was more difficult to win, and more costly: all the more reason to make certain it ended here and now. He raised his hand and signalled his strategus. An instant later the trumpets sounded their high clarion call, and the imperial troops surged ahead.
    As expected, the moment Alexius committed himself to his attack, the enemy’s two flanking bodies turned and drove in on either side. At the same time, the greater host behind swept in to surround and crush the Immortals.
    As before, the attack was halted by the dense numbers of foemen, who absorbed the assault with their shields and bodies. The horse soldiers abandoned their lances and took up swords to slash their way free of the enemy’s grasp. Glancing quickly to the right and left, Alexius saw the enemy divisions closing swiftly. He gave Taticius the sign, and the trumpets sounded retreat.
    Crouching low, Alexius jerked the reins back hard, wheeled his mount and led the Byzantines in full flight up the hill. The barbarians, amazed at the ease with which they had blunted the imperial attack, rushed forward to press their advantage. The three main bodies, followed by the great rolling wave—twenty thousand barbarians wide and twenty deep—swept on up the hill at a run, determined not to allow the Byzantines enough time to regroup for another charge.
    With an earth-trembling roar, the barbarians rushed to the kill, their feet pounding the hillside, weapons gleaming in the bright sunlight. The Immortals, unable to order the ranks andprepare the charge, had no other choice but to retreat further up the hill. The trumpets shrilled the call to retreat.
    Within moments, the imperial horsemen were fleeing the field, cresting the hill and disappearing